


Fever

by Bibliotheksbewohnerin



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Doctors, Fever, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Passing Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 15:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotheksbewohnerin/pseuds/Bibliotheksbewohnerin
Summary: Joe Chandler has little regard for his own health and Miles ends up being the one picking up the pieces. When DI Chandler ignores what he thinks is a simple cold, things happen. H/C ficlet.





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small ficlet about nasty colds and passing out, with no regard to accuracy and purely written for my own enjoyment. Maybe someone will like reading it as much as I liked writing it. Might make it a short series.

Briefly, Joseph Chandler wondered if he’d been hit over the head by a suspect the day before. The light that fell in through his bedroom window was painful and sharp, even through closed eyelids. No. It had been a rough day, lots of interviewing potential witnesses and realising that they knew nothing about what was going on. Going through security footage, waiting for autopsy reports. But no chase, no fight, no drink that could explain this headache.  
He opened his eyes and sat up. The far too bright room swam briefly before he could ground himself, leaning on his hands by his sides. Right. He did remember his throat feeling a little tight before coming home yesterday. The chill as he pulled his scarf tighter.

His body felt heavy and worn out and he knew that this was also down to the fact that definitely had not gotten enough sleep in the last few days. Months. Years.   
All his joints were aching but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of a vital investigation.

He dragged himself to the shower, hoping it would make him appear at least half decent.

Chandler knew that his regard for his own health was not as high as it should be. Not just since Miles called him out on walking out in front of armed police and a potentially armed suspect. Nevertheless, that could not be compared to ignoring a lousy cold, could it? Surely none of his team would even notice if he was careful. He certainly did not want to get them infected. But there was a job to be done and they needed their boss. He couldn’t force miles and Buchan to work together, could he? Not without some interference. 

He would lie down once he got home. Besides, it wasn’t like he was taking no care of himself whatsoever. He had made a big batch of ginger tea with honey to drink all day. It might even eliminate this damn infection by the evening.  
He got dressed under considerable strain, taking breaks after every item, coughing and holding on to the sink. Damn. There was nothing he could do now, he had to get to the station. Chandler looked in the mirror and saw that his eyes and cheeks were red, briefly wondering if he had a fever, but deciding that ignoring it was the best course of action. He splashed some cold water in his face and left his apartment.

Despite the delay cause by Chandler taking all available cold medicine in his cupboard, he managed to be the first one in the office. He placed his bag beside his desk, arranged his watch, pen, phone and tiger balm, took off his coat and walked over to the whiteboard to see if a fresh look would reveal any new insights to him.   
But the board was as blank as the day before, a photo and some words, nothing more. The only new addition were the flecks of yellow swimming across the board, and it took Chandler an embarrassingly long time to figure out these were coming from his own vision.

He was glad no one else was there yet to see him sway back into his office. He sat down and decided that it would be a good day for delegating and paperwork. The rest of his team started to mill in and go about their day. There was enough work left from the day before and no new developments so he didn’t need to get up and address them directly, everyone knew that this case was going to be aa grinder, everyone clutching to any insignificant detail they could find. 

The tea certainly helped his throat feel less raw and the only awkward moment came when Miles came in to report on something he had looked into.   
Chandler was certainly hoping he did not look as bad as he felt. He had already loosened his tie to deal with the overwhelming heat that had begun to crawl up his back. 

Miles had finished his report and was expecting an answer. 

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“Yes Miles, thank you. This case not getting anywhere is just getting on my nerves. Worked quite late.” Chandler realised he was fidgeting with his pen and put it down in front of him. 

“Right.” Miles eyed him suspiciously and entirely unconvinced. “Well, I’ll let you know if I find anything else on the location.” 

As long as he didn’t attempt to mother him or send him to bed, god forbid, Chandler didn’t care what Miles thought. “Yes. Thank you Miles.”

The case really was frustrating. There was no evidence, no victim name, no suspects. The team had worked all morning but they couldn’t generate any new leads or new angles to the case. Riley and Kent had gathered all the CCTV from the area, but there wasn’t much and certainly not from the right angles. They shuffled back- and forth through the footage but could not find anything.  
Chandler moved to rub some tiger balm on his temples, but his head was already feeling like it was boiling and he really couldn’t stand any additional heat right now. Though there were chills running down his spine. Only a few more hours and he could lie down in his bed; none the wiser. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep off this fog in his brain.

Chandler was pulled from his trance by his mobile ringing. He flinched, but picked up promptly.

“DI Chandler” He was getting seriously raspy again.

A familiar Welsh voice greeted him. “It’s Dr Llewellyn. We’ve got an ID on the victim. I thought you might want to know first, so I called you directly.”

“Yes. Thank you very much. I’ll inform the team.”

He nodded as he took down the name and some other details the DNA analysis had revealed. 

“You don’t sound very good.” Dr Llewellyn said with what Chandler thought might have been concern, but could have also been sarcasm. He found he couldn’t always tell with Welsh accents.

Chandler could feel the rush of blood to his brain. Finally, something to go on. In just a few minutes, the room would be humming like a beehive, everyone getting busy. Making progress. He would address them and direct orders.   
He would never openly admit it, but he loved it. He loved when everyone listened to him and took their tasks seriously. It wasn’t so much the feeling of having power over people as it was the respect and the loyalty he could feel coming from them. Respect he earned through hard work, and sometimes he was afraid of losing it all, in a spur of the moment, when they saw how much he struggled to keep his façade. Miles was the only one who had truly seen him falter. And Chandler would rather forget about that too.

He got up from his desk, opening the door and steadying himself in the doorframe from a moment before walking up to the whiteboard. He really hoped his voice wouldn’t give out. He felt a rush of excitement as he picked up the pen. Or maybe it was the cold messing with his body. He did feel rather warm…

He turned to his team, ignoring the way Miles looked at him, and tried to clear his throat. 

“The victim has been identified through the DNA database. Her name is..” 

His voice went up a pitch and he started coughing. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him now, but no longer in a good way. A water bottle appeared in his field of vision. He looked up and saw that Riley was holding it.

“Sir. Have some water.” He saw the concern in her eyes and gratefully took the bottle from her hands. He took a few sips and continued, but the look on Riley’s face did not go away.

“Her name is Natasha Sergejevna Shatalovna. She was born in Novgorod in Russia in ‘75 but moved here in 2005 to study law.” He turned around to write the name down on the whiteboard, next to the photos of the crime scene and from the autopsy.  
The room spun as he turned around again, and Chandler wished the floor would stay still for a second. There were black spots in his field of vision when he tried to find something in the room to ground him, and suddenly the floor seemed to be coming toward him…

...

Miles saw it coming a split second before it was happening, and he cursed himself for not rushing forward and catching his DI in time. When the man had walked out of his office, his cheeks had seemed almost flustered, but the second he’d turned around from the whiteboard, all the colour was drained from his face and he seemed as pale as the board behind him. When Miles had registered this, Chandler was already on the floor, his legs having given out under him comically as he went down, knees bent. Miles nearly jumped out of his seat and rushed to Chandlers side. The rest of the team seemed to be frozen in shock. 

“Give him some space!” Miles shoved Mansell to the side. He pushed the thought away that, had Chandler collapsed just a few inches to the left, he might have died from hitting his head on the sharp corner of a desk. He turned Chandler onto his back carefully and felt his forehead. 

“Bloody Idiot. He’s got a high fever. Riley, get me a wet towel!”

Riley shook her head to get out of her rigour and obliged, wetting a paper towel and handing it to Miles. He carefully laid it on his boss’s forehead, wiping away a few strands of blonde hair.

Miles started barking orders.

“Let’s get his legs up! Don’t just stand there and watch!” Mansell grabbed a chair and helped Kent pull up Chandlers feet onto the chair. Mansell was glad to see Chandlers chest heave in quick successions, at least he was breathing. Though Miles did feel like choking him for being such an idiot again. Really, it wasn’t any different than with his kids. Which was why he had to resist the urge to smooth over Chandlers hair, the grown man looking so vulnerable in that moment.

Chandler stirred and moan escaped his mouth, and echo of sounds of relief going through the room. Miles motioned everyone to get to work again, he knew that waking up with a dozen faces peering over you wasn’t particularly encouraging.

“Sir, can you hear me?” Miles asked quietly. 

“Wha…what happened?” Chandler croaked, the words sending spikes of pain through his throat.

Miles took a second to swallow the insults he had prepared.   
“I don’t think you’ve just got a cold. You got a very high fever. This is proper influenza and you need to see a Doctor and get to bed.”

Chandler still kept his eyes closed. “Nooo, I’m fine Miles. We’ve got a case to work on.” His works were drawn out like he was drunk.

“You passed out while talking”

“Oh.” Miles wished Chandler would open his eyes so he could see his no-shit-Sherlock face.

There was a loud squeaking sound as Chandler pushed the chair away from under his legs.

“Either you’ll let me drive you home or I’ll call an ambulance”

“You’re not my mother.” 

“No, but I’m your Sargent and you’re clearly not fit for duty. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Chandler would have argued, but there was not an ounce of energy left in his body to do that. His limbs felt like rubber and his brain seemed to have been replaced with very heavy, static cotton.  
Miles guided him into a sitting position on the floor, handing him the bottle of water again.

“Drink some more water, will you? But be careful.”

Miles watched Chandler carefully as he drank with a shaking hand. The older man had his hand on Chandler’s back, steadying him, trying to make sure he didn’t end up choking. Miles took the bottle from his hands again.

“Okay, easy now. I’ll drive you home”

Chandler let Miles help him up, trying to stand up on his own, but ending up leaning heavily on the smaller man.

“I suppose I have…no choice” Chandler’s voice was quit and restrained, and Miles found it painful to listen to.

“You’re damn right you don’t. Come on. Kent, get his stuff to my car.”

“Yes Sir.” Said Kent, sounding a little too eager. 

They made their way to the carpark slowly, Miles having to shift Chandler’s weight from time to time. Carrying him would have probably been easier than dragging him along, but he wasn’t going to humiliate his boss any further than he’d already managed to do himself.

“I can’t believe I have to do this again. I feel like I’ve adopted another child.”

“DS Miles, I’m your superior officer!” Coughed Chandler, and they had to pause for a few seconds until he stopped.

“Yeah well, you’re not acting like it. Responsibility doesn’t just mean looking out for others, you know? You’re not any use to anyone this way. When will you get it in your head that people care about you? You’ve got to get that self-destructive bullshit under control. And I’m calling a doctor as soon as we’ve got you home.”

Chandler was too stunned to speak. Miles decanted him into the front seat of his car carefully, which wasn’t easy considering their height difference. When he’d sat down in the driver seat, Miles saw that Chandler was struggling to fasten his seatbelt, missing the buckle several times. Miles reached over and swatted Chandlers hands away, doing it for him. Chandler just glared at him.  
Kent reached them a minute later and placed Chandlers bag and coat in the trunk.   
They rode in silence, safe for the occasional cough coming from Chandler, and reached his apartment relatively quick, the rush hour of the evening not having started yet. Miles went around the car to help Chandler get out, though he seemed to have recovered some of his strength. Miles felt his forehead again, and while Chandler looked annoyed, Miles couldn’t help but notice the way Chandler leaned into the cold touch. They took the elevator up to his apartment and Chandler let them inside, stumbling through the door.

“I trust you can get undressed yourself. I’ll call a doctor and check on you in a minute.” 

Miles had to resist the urge to say “and if you’re not in bed by then, young man…!” with all his might. Chandler just nodded and left for his bedroom.

Miles found the number in an address book by the door and called what he assumed must be Chandler’s GP. Luckily, the doctor wasn’t too busy and promised to come over within the hour. Probably someone with a fancy private practice thought Miles, all leather sofas and expensive Swiss water in sleek bottles. They did seem a little surprised about who was calling them.

Miles went to check on Chandler in the bedroom, and when there was no response to his soft knock on the bedroom door, he found that Chandler had already fallen asleep, his suit neatly folded on a chair. Miles went over and pulled the blanket al little higher on Chandlers chest. Surely, he wouldn’t notice. Or at least not remember.

It only took Dr Davis 45 minutes to arrive. Miles directed him to the bedroom and sat down in the living room, waiting. 

...

Chandler woke up from a strange fever dream to cold metal touching his chest. He drew in a painful breath and stared at the doctor wide-eyed.

“Sorry to wake you like this. Your Sargent called me and explained everything. Seems to me like you’ve got a serious infection. Not something you should leave your bed with.” He paused for emphasis. “For at least a week.”

The doctor must have seen the protest forming in Chandler’s eyes and quickly added “I’ll be informing your medical officer”. Chandler folded.

“Let me just take your fever.” The man shoved a white apparatus into Chandlers ear. The thermometer gave a high-pitched beep after a few seconds. Dr Davis stared at the display with a hint of surprise. 

“You really shouldn’t leave the house. You’ve got a fever of 39,5° C. A degree higher, and this would be life-threatening. I know you’re not keen on a hospital stay, so Joe, I suggest you do as you’re told.”

Chandler wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing the Doctor was an old family friend. He started coughing again, his body shaking violently with each breath. The doctor’s hand where on his back, easing him into a sitting position. 

“That’s it. Lean forward.” Chandler stayed like that for several minutes, until he could take what felt like a proper breath again, every inch of his body hurting, his lungs burning.

“I’ve put some antibiotics on your nightstand. Take those every day until the package is empty. There’s also something to take in case your fever gets so much as half a degree higher. And it’s vital you take in enough fluids. I’ll be checking in with you in a few days. Do you have someone who can take care of you in the meantime?”

Chandler looked lost in thought for a moment.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Dr Davis could have sworn he saw a smile tugging at the corners of Joe’s lips for a second. It might have been the fever.


End file.
